Doom was dancing on the doorstep of Dominaria. After impossible centuries of tireless planning and vengeful lusting, Phyrexia’s dark god was ready to make his apocalyptic homecoming. Rath would overlay any moment; perhaps it already did. Thousands would soon lay dead at the feet of the invaders, and several times those numbers would join them shortly after. The fall of the Thran, the War of the Brothers, the Age of Ice, all would pale to the coming calamity. Whichever side won, the age of Dominaria as it was known was coming to an end.

But far away, through the endless expanse of the Blind Eternities, another ending was taking place, one that wore a sinister mask of civility. On the tiny, crafted plane known only as the Amphiseum, the farewell gala Games were in full swing. The plane was far too small and insignificant to draw Yawgmoth’s notice, and few in attendance cared in the least for the fate of Dominaria. The planeswalkers gathered there cared only for the rarities the Amphiseum could offer. They consumed the most impossible of foods and wines from the furthest, most exotic planes of the Multiverse. They enjoyed the company of their own kind meeting in jovial friendship rather than bitter bloodshed. And of course, they enjoyed the Games.

The stands of the Arena-Plane were nearly full with spectators. Granted, the far end was occupied almost solely by a single, massive giant, but those seats were, if anything, more occupied than they would have been by smaller folk. Burkgrin Zin yawned and stretched, nearly forcing the noble court of Marpose to flee in terror. They, like the other mortal spectators, had been transported to the miniscule plane by some of the large planar barges that floated idly in the false sun above the arena. Delegates such as the Marposan court made up the bulk of the spectators, and had been flown in from over a dozen planes to see these final Games. Burkgrin, of course, had simply ‘walked.

Not far from Burkgrin Zin, the Ruk Gang, three rambunctious goblin ‘walkers, were roughhousing with one another, paying almost no attention to the match going on below. On the floor of the Amphiseum, a fierce battle was raging between two impossibly deadly foes. At what would be the northern end of the Arena, a huge Dugradon darted between the side pillars with a speed that belied its size. It was, in all likelihood, the largest Dugradon in existence, its mammoth framed heavily muscled under its thick, dull, purple hide. The razor-sharp spines that lined its back and ringed its skull shook with a primal fury. Its outer jaw had no ability, and no need, to close, and its inner mouth snapped shut and open at every appearance of its lashtongue. Any intelligent hunter would have run from such a monstrosity as this.

Fortunately for the increasingly inebriated crowd, the Dugradon’s opponent was an over-sized Rhox, and intelligence was not his defining characteristic. The Rhino-man rocked back and forth on two legs as he lumbered toward his foe. His biceps, nearly as large as his head, flexed unconsciously as he readied his golden hand axe for his hopeful kill. His half-hearted armor clanged gently as he moved, his impossibly wide chest rising and falling under his thick, green-gray skin. He took a deep breath in and then exhaled, somehow managing to expel steam even in the perfect warm weather of the Amphiseum.

Suddenly, the Rhox burst forward in a defiant charge. The Dugradon roared so loudly that it even managed to draw the attention of the Ruk Gang goblins, if only for a moment. The angered beast was at least twice the size of the charging Rhox, but the Rhino-man seemed unconcerned. As they closed in on one another, the Dugradon reared and slashed out with one massive, clawed limb.

Faster than it seemed possible, the Rhox ducked and darted under the attack, and then launched all of his weight shoulder first into the Dugradon’s underbelly. The creature staggered back, but still had the presence of mind to strike again, this time with its extended lashtongue. The Rhox didn’t even blink. He jumped to one side and brought his axe down hard, severing the tongue. Without a moment’s hesitation, the Rhox dove forward and upward, slashing the Dugradon’s throat and showering himself, as well as the first few rows of spectators, in the beast’s blood. This drew a chorus of boos from the crowd, who had hoped for a longer, more vicious battle. The Rhox became suddenly infuriated, so he selected a target at random and hurled his golden axe at the spectators.

At the far end of the Amphiseum, in the main pavilion, a single, dainty hand rose into the air, held still for just one second, then swiftly motioned back toward the Rhox. A sudden wind rose, catching the axe in mid-air and flinging it with even greater speed right back at the Rhino-man. The brute had only enough time to widen his eyes before his own axe was driven straight through his skull. The crowd went suddenly and totally silent. Chardis lowered the glass of wine he was sipping and glanced over at Syl, who was smirking as she lowered her hand.

In a somewhat quiet tone of voice, he said, “You should not have done that, dear sister.”

“And why not, dear brother?” she asked with irritating innocence. “It is not as though we were going to use him again.”

Chardis thought for a moment before smiling and nodding. He stood, downed the remainder of his glass, and spoke, this time in a voice projected so that everyone on the plane could hear. “It would seem the winner of this match…is my sister Syl!” He set down his glass and gave her a brief, polite applause. The spectators hesitated, but knew better than to risk the wrath of the Dual-Walkers, especially in their own plane. The crowd erupted in a round of energetic cheers. As he waited for the noise to die down, Chardis glanced down knowingly at his sister, who merely maintained her smirk.

When he could be heard again, Chardis continued. “There are but two more matches before the Amphiseum closes its doors, perhaps forever.” He relished the disappointed boos of the spectators. “So mingle, celebrate, enjoy the food and the wine! The penultimate duel will commence shortly!”

This time, the crowd cheered earnestly, and Chardis turned back to the rest of the pavilion. Apart from his sister, there were eight others occupying the opulent compartment. All but one of these were planeswalkers. As they usually did, Chardis’s eyes fell first on Penelophine, the unspeakably beautiful siren from the Alceme Isles. Syl disliked having the alluring planeswalker around, but Chardis always insisted on her invitation. Her beauty more than made up for the looks she always gave Syl.

Before Chardis could pry his gaze away from the lovely creature, another of his guests spoke, her voice harsh and hot. Chardis’s expression soured as he looked over at the displeased expression of the false face of Morgezka Shanak.

“You shouldn’t have killed him,” she chided. “That Rhox fought well for you for years.”

“He knew the rules,” Syl reminded her.

Morgezka scoffed. “The rules be damned! You could have stopped the axe without taking his life. Is that how you repay services rendered? Is that what you plan to do with me after my match?”

The Dual-Walkers both looked over Morgezka with quizzical expressions. In her current form, she looked like a simple red-haired human woman, attractive though unkempt, and seemed to pose little threat to anyone. Both of the Twins knew far better, and Chardis laughed as he replied.

“And if that were our intention, would you allow such a thing?”

“Of course not,” she said with a spiteful laugh.

“Besides,” continued Chardis, “your true form is more than adequate to fend off a simple axe, is it not, my dear?”

She glanced around the pavilion. “In my true form, I wouldn’t even fit in here,” Morgezka scoffed. “You couldn’t hurt me if you tried.” She then looked to her right, at the human man sitting next to her. Impulsively, she sat on his lap and caressed his stubble-lined face. “And I’m not your dear, Chardis, I’m Grund’s dear.” She leaned in and kissed her lover, who kissed her back hungrily.

Both of the Duel-Walkers had to bite back their initial reactions, which rested somewhere between repulsion and amusement. Grund Larfolk was the mortal amongst them, there at the specific demand of Morgezka, who was, without a doubt, their star combatant. Grund had little in the way of looks and nothing in the way of power, but for unknown reasons, he did have the heart of Morgezka Shanak, and rarely did one go anywhere without the other. Finally, Syl got her attention with a polite cough.

“The final matches will be starting soon. I think you had better get to your dressing room.” She looked from them to the other side of the pavilion, where a large Viashino swordsman was seated. “You too, Phreksha. You are up next.”

The naked human woman sitting on Phreksha Barb-Tail’s lap whimpered, but the Viashino seemed relieved. He had been less than comfortable with Naked Needa’s advances, but she was a planeswalker guest of the Dual-Walkers as well, and he had no wish to earn their ire by insulting her. With their dismissal, however, Phreksha was able to push her out of the way, stand, and bow to them. “Thank you Lady Syl, Lord Chardis. I shall do what I can to please you out there.”

Chardis smirked. “I am certain you will, Phreksha Barb-Tail.”

Naked Needa pouted. “We’ll celebrate later, after you win!”

Syl rolled her eyes at the exhibitionist. “Please, Needa, do try to show some degree of civility and restraint.”

“It’s Naked Needa,” the nude woman corrected.

Syl simply stared. “I will not call you that.”

The other woman bounded over to Syl’s brother. “Well, Lord Chardis doesn’t mind, do you, Chardis?”

But the other Duel-Walker had turned his attention back to the lovely Penelophine, and did not answer. She waited for a moment before pouting even deeper and refilling her glass with the strongest wine available. After a short time, when it became apparent that the beautiful siren was going out of her way to avoid his gaze, Chardis moved over to socialize with two of the other guests of the pavilion, a young human soldier standing rigidly at attention and an older-looking human who was leaning over the railing and looking generally unhappy.

“So, Tharandias,” he began with a large, insincere smile. “How are you enjoying the Games thus far?”

The older-looking man glanced over at the Dual-Walker but refused to share his smile. “I am here because I must be, Chardis. You know well that I do not enjoy these ‘Games’ at all.”

Chardis’s smile faded, but then crept back as a smirk and then a full-fledged grin. “That is ‘Lord Chardis’ to you, my friend. Remember, we are none of us young forever.”

The younger soldier’s brow furrowed at this non-sequitur, but the older man seemed to catch the statement’s meaning. Before he could respond, Syl walked up, looking radiant as always in her gorgeous ebony gown. “I trust all is well, gentlemen.”

Chardis laughed, briefly and dishonestly. “His Honor the Sage-Marshal is not enjoying himself, I fear.”

“Is that true, dear Tharandias?” Syl asked without a trace of interest or emotion. “We do try so hard to make the Games an event for everyone to remember. It is, after all, so important to remember things. Do you not agree?”

Again, the Sage-Marshal seemed to pick up on a hint that the younger man did not. As he answered, he kept his voice as level as he could. “No, Lady Syl. Once again, you and your brother have outdone yourselves. It is…” he hesitated, debating his options. “It is simply my humor. I find myself out of the mood for games.”

Syl smirked. “Perhaps your humor will improve before the finale.”

Again, Tharandias hesitated, but he eventually nodded. “I have no doubt it will, Milady.”

Chardis shared his sister’s smirk as he put his arm around the venerated Sage-Marshal as though they were old comrades. “Now there is a good lad,” Chardis said mockingly. “I have told you that you simply need to learn to enjoy yourself.”

“Yes, Lord Chardis,” Tharandias nearly spat.

Chardis’s grin widened as he moved to leave. He stopped himself suddenly and turned to the younger soldier. “Baracon. You look well.”

Baracon merely nodded as he glanced back and forth from the Dual-Walkers to Tharandias.

Chardis glanced down at the other man’s side. “I trust all is well in Kahva.”

Reflexively, Baracon reached down and laid a hand on the hilt of the ornate silver saber hanging at his side. His eyes narrowed, but only slightly. “As I’m sure you know, Lord Chardis, things in Kahva are as well as always.”

Both of the Twins broke into their familiar smirks. Syl was the one to speak. “That is very good to hear. I do hope it continues so.”

The Dual-Walkers turned away, leaving the other two planeswalkers to dwell on their own bitterness. The Twins made their way back to Grund Larfolk, who was looking positively miserable despite speaking with Penelophine. She was talking as Syl and Chardis approached.

“You must be very proud of Morgezka. Such a beautiful and powerful warrior. I have heard her say that you are a knight back on, where was it, again?”

“Ryxe,” he said simply.

“Ah, yes,” Penelophine replied with mock interest. “I’ve never been, of course. But a knight? You must be quite the warrior, as well. Why have you never fought in the Games?”

Grund’s head dropped slightly and he sighed. “Would that I were, and would that I could.”

“You see,” came Syl’s lyrical voice, “Our dear Grund’s knighthood was obtained under some, shall we say, unique circumstances.”

Penelophine’s eyes brightened at the approach of the lovely Dual-Walker, but darkened again as she noticed the gaze of Chardis, once more focused on her. Chardis noticed, and was simultaneously irritated and amused. The eyes of Grund Larfolk narrowed at Syl’s words, but he said nothing. Chardis picked up the story from where his sister had left off.

“Yes, if memory serves, Grund here was tasked with slaying a dragon on the promise of a knighthood. He rode off alone, and mysteriously rode back with Morgezka, who swore that Grund had done just that. She claimed to be some sort of abducted maiden, if I recall.”

Grund’s chin pressed against his chest, and Penelophine frowned. “Don’t be cruel, Chardis.”

Syl laughed briefly. “Were we being cruel? We merely meant to tease. Morgezka Shanak is one of our oldest…friends, and Grund Larfolk is our honored guest.”

“Yes,” Chardis agreed, flashing his handsome smile at the Siren, who ignored it. “In fact, as this is our final Games, we have a present for Grund and Morgezka.”

This drew Grund’s attention, as well as his confusion. “You do?”

Syl nodded. “Of course, dear boy. Come, the next match will start soon, and we do not want to miss it, so we should make this quick.”

The Dual-Walkers led Grund away toward the preparation rooms at the Arena’s wings. Penelophine watched them go with a tinge of concern, but her vision was mostly focused on the sensual frame of Syl. As they disappeared down the stairs, the Siren sighed, and turned her attention to those who remained in the pavilion. The two men at the railing seemed unhappy and boring, and so she instead moved over to Naked Needa, who had moved on to bothering the final member of the honored party, a tall, whisper-thin Vedalken man who went only by the name Grimoire. He was writing fervently in his massive tome while completely ignoring the attentions of the nudist, much to Needa’s annoyance and Penelophine’s amusement. Still, she needed something to occupy herself with until the Games commenced, and so she moved to join them.

“So, what did you think of the last match?”

Naked Needa giggled. The wine had started to affect her over an hour ago, and it was only getting worse. Penelophine did not care for the woman. She was attractive enough, but she lacked the dignity and finesse that might have made her truly desirable. After a bout of uncontrollable giggling, Naked Needa finally answered the Siren’s question.

“I thought it was great! That Rhox sure knew how to fight.”

Grimoire said nothing, but instead simply continued to write, two hands holding the tome, one keeping the paper smooth and the fourth moving his quill. Finally, Penelophine grew tired of waiting.
“And what about you, Grimoire? What did you think?”

Normally, nothing could have drawn him away from his work, but the voice of a Siren, especially a planeswalker Siren, was nearly impossible for any man to ignore. “It was short,” he started bluntly. “Likely one of the shortest in the history of the Games, though I would need to look that up.”

“What about the result,” Penelophine pressed.

“The Rhox was favored to win. With Lady Syl being named the winner, no doubt Vorgthtd will be very pleased.”

“Who’s Vorgthtd?” Naked Needa asked before Penelophine could.

Without looking up from his book, Grimoire took his third hand and pointed a short distance out into the crowd. In the direction he was pointing stood a tall, pale man walking amongst the spectators. “He takes bets on the Games.”

“Really?” Penelophine asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him here before. Where is he from?”

Finally, Grimoire stopped writing and began thumbing through his tome until he got to a page near the front. He read briefly, and then simply said, “Maab.”

The Siren nodded absently. “And where are you from, Grimoire?”

A sudden look of confusion crossed the Vedalken’s face. He started flipping through pages again, but when he got to the beginning, he just shook his head. “That information must be in another tome.”

This caught Penelophine off-guard, but she just shook her head. “How about you, Naked Needa? What plane do you come from?”

The nudist downed the remainder of her wine and went to pour herself more. “I don’t remember, actually. It never mattered much.”

Penelophine threw up her hands in resignation. As Grimoire scanned over some pages, he seemed to notice something. “Actually, my tome is incomplete. Where are you from, Lady Penelophine? I have here written the ‘Alceme Isles’?”

She nodded. “That’s where I was born. These days, though, I live in a grotto on the coast of Veretna, on Arbagoth.”

Grimoire simply nodded and scribbled before turning back to the page he had been working on originally. Penelophine sighed, glanced over to the unhappy planeswalkers at the railing, and sighed again. Finally, she gave up, poured herself a glass of wine, and waited.

Grund Larfolk stood in a large changing room, confused and afraid, flanked on either side by one of the two Dual-Walkers. Surprisingly, both of the Twins were smiling warmly at him. Finally, despite knowing well that it was dangerous to speak out of turn to a planeswalker, particularly the Dual-Walkers, Grund could not take it any longer.

“Look, what is this all about?”

Syl gently laid one hand on his shoulder. “It must be difficult for you, my dear Grund.”

“Knowing that Morgezka is so far above you,” continued Chardis with a smirk.

Grund’s eyes lowered. “I…I’m not sure what you mean.”

Both of the Twins laughed at this. Chardis spoke again, saying, “I think you know precisely what we mean, Sir Grund.”

Grund’s head lowered again, and Syl padded his shoulder. “She is a planeswalker, and a fierce warrior, while you have never earned a single accolade of your own on the battlefield.”

The knight looked shattered by this accusation. “That doesn’t matter to Morgezka.”

“Of course not,” agreed Syl.

“But it does matter to you,” added Chardis. “Does it not?”

Grund tried to look up at the planeswalker, but couldn’t. Finally, Syl continued.

“That is why we are here, dear boy. Morgezka has been good to my brother and I. She has been out greatest attraction in the Games.”

Chardis nodded. “But there is nothing Morgezka Shanak desires that she does not already have, and so there is nothing we can give her in thanks of all she has done.”

“And all she has said,” added Syl, removing her cold hand from Grund’s shoulder.

Her brother nodded. “However, we are in a position to give you something, Grund Larfolk, something that you and Morgezka can remember for the rest of your lives.”

Grund lifted his head. “What is it?”

Syl smiled. “There are two more matches left before we close the Amphiseum forever. Morgezka will fight in the final match, as is only right.”

“But imagine,” Chardis interjected, “if the second to last match was fought and won by Grund Larfolk. Think about it, the final two bouts ever fought in the Amphiseum won by Grund and Morgezka, respectively.”

Grund was aghast. “But, I thought that Lizard-man was fighting in the next round? Isn’t he a planeswalker? You know I can’t defeat a planeswalker!”

“You could not defeat him even if he were a mortal Viashino,” Syl pointed out, causing his shoulders to slump. “But that is not the point. The Dual-Walkers want you to defeat Phreksha Barb-Tail, and that is all the endorsement anyone needs.”

As if from nowhere, Chardis produced a large, single-bladed battleaxe that seemed to glimmer in a transparent reflection. He handed the battleaxe to Grund. “This axe carries a powerful enchantment. Its edge can wound, or even kill, planeswalkers. Phreksha will be little more than mortal.”

The knight remained unconvinced. “But, even so, his skill…”

“Do not worry,” Syl soothed. “We can enchant you so heavily that the Viashino will stand no chance against you, if you wish.”

Grund swallowed hard, but the promise of glory, and of finally being worthy of Morgezka in his own eyes, were too great a temptation to refuse. With a new fire in his eyes, Grund Larfolk nodded.

“Excellent,” Chardis said, reaching his hand out to grasp Grund’s skull. A bright light flared in the Dual-Walker’s hand, and the knight’s senses went blank. Chardis smiled at Syl. “You take care of his appearance, dear sister. I will alter his mentality into something more…entertaining.”

Syl smirked fiercely as she summoned her energy for the illusions. “Yes, dear brother, I believe these Games will be a thing to remember.”

He nodded. “Be sure to alter his scent. We don’t want the Lizard’s nose to ruin our surprise.”

“Of course, dear brother. After all, who is better than I at such things?”

“No one, sister,” he responded with a smirk. “No one is better than the Dual-Walkers.”

Back in their place at the pavilion, Chardis raised his right arm and Syl her left, signaling that the match was about to begin. The excitement built in the crowd, as everyone knew that the seasoned combatant Phreksha Barb-Tail would fight, but they didn’t know with whom. Burkgrin Zin adjusted his position again, hoping to get the best view. The Ruk Gang managed to calm themselves down, if only for a few moments. Vorgthtd continued taking bets, and despite the mystery of the opponent, most bet on Phreksha. He was, after all, the most decorated and successful competitor in the Amphiseum after Morgezka herself. There was no way he could lose.

The Dual-Walkers dropped their arms, and the Viashino warrior sprinted from his preparation room to the center of the otherwise empty arena floor. He drew his thin sword and held it out in respect for the Twins, its metal reflecting the light of the artificial sun almost as brilliantly as Phreksha’s own red-gold scales. Suddenly, a blood-curdling roar sounded from the opposite side, silencing the spectators and dropping the Viashino down to a fighting crouch. For several long moments, nothing happened. Then, without further warning, Phreksha’s opponent burst out of the opposite preparation room, barreling straight for him.

The creature appeared to be some sort of minotaur, thickly muscled and angry beyond words, waving a large battleaxe over its head. Phreksha decided not to risk anything, and simply raised his free claw toward his foe, hurling a blinding lightning bolt into the minotaur’s chest. The raging monster’s body seemed to shimmer for a moment, but the bolt did little more than rock its arm backward slightly. Phreksha’s eyes widened in surprise, but he had only a fraction of a second to think about it before the massive battleaxe hammered down toward him. Reflexively, the Viashino dove to his side, rolled to his feet, and struck, piercing the minotaur’s side with all three tips of his barbed tail. The minotaur seemed not to notice, and brought the shaft of the axe up sharply, catching Phreksha under his reptilian jaw, launching him limply across the arena floor.

For a few seconds, Phreksha Barb-Tail had no idea what was happening, and even less an idea of where he was. As the two halves of his vision merged back into one another, he caught the glint of an axe descending toward him again. He rolled to his left, but the blade still grazed his right shoulder. Although the cut was miniscule, the pain that exploded through his body was more excruciating than any wound he had ever received. As quickly as he could, Phreksha scurried away and forced himself back to his feet. The minotaur was recovering his balance, and the Viashino decided to cut his losses. He extended his arms to his side, and tried to planeswalk. Nothing happened.

In that instant, Phreksha panicked. He had been raised a fierce warrior, but it had been ages since he had needed to use those skills. In desperation, he launched a volley of fireballs at his opponent, but they had little more effect than drops of wind-thrust rain. The minotaur charged him again, and Phreksha struggled vainly to keep his composure. Moving as deftly as he could, the Viashino dodged the minotaur’s battleaxe and swung in with his sword, but his foe was too quick. For several long, tense moments, the two combatants exchanged strikes and parries, but the advantage was always with the minotaur, forcing Phreksha back further and further. Finally, the minotaur reared back for a two-handed strike, and the Viashino stabbed it straight on with his sword. The minotaur roared in pain, but continued his swing anyway. Phreksha let go of his sword and launched himself backwards, narrowly avoiding losing his hand to the other’s attack.

As he tried to catch his breath, Phreksha Barb-Tail watched in horror as the minotaur casually pulled out the sword and hurled it across the arena. Desperate and frightened, Phreksha leapt at the nearest of the stone columns lining the Amphiseum, using his natural reptilian abilities to scurry around to the far side and climb. But the minotaur would not be denied. With one mighty jump, the minotaur crashed into the pillar, holding the column and his battleaxe in one hand and closing his free hand around Phreksha. With a twisting motion, the minotaur tossed Phreksha back to the floor and pushed off of the pillar with both legs. As he crashed down on the prone body of the Viashino planeswalker, he brought the battleaxe down hard, ending the battle and Phreksha’s life in a shower of shock and blood.

The crowd fell silent. The only sound that echoed through the plane was the shutter-inducing victory roar that sounded from the minotaur’s throat. In the pavilion, Penelophine and Baracon were both forcing themselves to look away from the scene, while Tharandias the Sage-Marshal simply bowed and shook his head. Naked Needa just kept whispering Phreksha’s name over and over again, though Grimoire continued writing in his tome. The Dual-Walkers, on the other hand, wore the characteristic smirk they always did when some personal joke they shared pleased them. Chardis stood and indicated toward the minotaur.

“Your winner.”

Syl stood to join him, and pointed toward the far gate. “And now, the finale!”

The far gate opened, and Morgezka strolled out, casual and confident, smiling and waving to the stunned spectators. Her jovial attitude was brought to a sudden halt when she spotted the body of Phreksha and the bloodthirsty beast standing above him.

“Phreksha…” she whispered, although no one could hear her over the roar. Somehow, though, the minotaur seemed to sense her presence. Blind rage reflected in his eyes, and he charged straight for her, leaving the corpse of Phreksha lying on the ground behind him. Without hesitation, Morgezka launched a wave of intense flames into his face, but he came on without notice. It was hardly her strongest attack, but the minotaur’s refusal to even acknowledge it bothered her. She had time to hurl one last ignored shockwave before he reached her and she was forced to twist out of the path of his deadly swing.

Morgezka was immediately on the defense, dodging and rolling out of the way as the minotaur pressed his berserk assault. Whenever she could, the seasoned fighter would throw whatever she could think of in the face of the crazed attacker, but any magic that touched him seemed to dissipate. Something was not right here, but Morgezka could not put her finger on it, and she had no time to stop and think about it. Eventually, she made her decision. Magic was getting her nowhere. It was time for her true form.

She quickly put some distance between herself and the rampaging beast, and suddenly her false frame began to melt away. Her skin began to flake, her hair shriveled, and her body grew. Large claws replaced fingernails, her nose flattened and elongated, and a tail grew from her back as she became larger and larger. Morgezka did not spend much time in her original form these days, and she had forgotten how good it felt compared to the frail human shape. Within moments, the transformation was completed. Morgezka Shanak stood on all for legs, confident and proud in all her draconic glory.

Amazingly, the minotaur seemed unimpressed, and charged directly at the planeswalking dragon. Morgezka hesitated, more out of surprise than concern, but bounded backwards to avoid the attack. A quick breath of dragon’s flames should have been more than enough to incinerate this mysterious foe, but whatever was protecting this minotaur must have been incredibly strong, because the minotaur was only lightly singed. Morgezka wasn’t worried; she was fiercely powerful and she knew it. But still, something was going on that the dragon didn’t like.

In the pavilion, the other planeswalkers were getting the same feeling, but they had information Morgezka did not, and far more time to connect the pieces of the puzzle. Penelophine was the first to look around, and the first to speak, in a voice quieted by shock and fear. “Chardis, where is Grund?”

The Dual-Walker turned his head toward her, his eyes blazing and his mouth set in a bone-chilling grin. “He is nearby, my dear. I would not worry about him, were I you.”

Penelophine could barely speak. She could feel the intense, raw power radiating from him, and it frightened her. She could not remember ever being so scared, even before her spark had ignited. “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t do this.”

Syl turned around, her eyes emitting a thin black smoke and her smile matching her brother’s. “Be calm, Penelophine. You might miss the finale.”

The Siren swallowed hard. There were few alive who could stand one on two against the awesome and terrible power of the Dual-Walkers, and Penelophine was certainly not one of them. Fighting back a tear in her eye, she refocused on the bout. Morgezka had just landed from a momentary flight, and she was circling around her opponent, looking for an opportunity. The minotaur just kept coming, and she was finally ready to make her stand. The great dragon leaned down and blasted him with a full burst of dragon’s fire that would have melted a glacier. This time, the minotaur was hurt, but not enough to stop, and Morgezka was out of position. With a massive forward jump, the minotaur brought the axe down across Morgezka’s left eye.

The cut wasn’t deep, only breaking the scales above and below the eyeball, but Morgezka flailed backwards as if she had been dealt a deathblow. The pain was indescribable, and her vision flickered in and out as she struggled to maintain herself. Desperately, she tried everything, but she realized in horror that she couldn’t even ‘walk. She could not even feel the presence of the æther, which had served as a persistent companion ever since she had first ascended. So that is how it killed Phreksha, she thought suddenly. The revelation filled her with a rush of anger. Somebody wanted the planeswalker gladiators dead, and she had a pretty good idea of who it was. The cruelty of the Dual-Walkers was boundless, and Morgezka was overcome with a sudden desire to thwart them. She remembered telling them that they couldn’t hurt her if they tried, and she was determined to prove it.

In the crowd, the utterly massive frame of Burkgrin Zin was fidgeting in a way none had ever seen him before. His face, usually little more lifelike than a statue’s, was etched in an expression of uncomfortable concern that served as mirror to the countless smaller faces in the crowd. Even the Ruk Gang, rarely able to focus on one thing for more than a few minutes, were sitting in still silence watching the brutal battle that was playing out beneath them. The delegates from the Marposan court, usually ones to revel in the danger and blood of gladiators, seemed almost frozen in place, some even refusing to look on. Even Vorgthtd, usually as amoral as any man in the Multiverse, had stopped taking bets and was staring in stunned concern.

Morgezka Shanak was fighting a defensive battle now, her vision blurred and her frame far weaker than she was used to. The agony emanating from her eye was unlike anything she had ever felt, and it was not getting better as the minutes passed. She kept her head toward this mysterious opponent, but continually backed away as the minotaur pressed ever onward. Three different times, Morgezka took to flight and blasted her deadly foe with dragon’s flame, and each time the minotaur withstood the attack. It was clear that his mystical shield was weakening, because each blast seemed to do more damage than the last, but her own strength was also failing. It would not be long before her wound, small and insignificant as it should have been, would claim the last of her strength.

In the pavilion, both Tharandias the Sage-Marshal and the younger Baracon were spending equal time staring in horror at the arena floor and glaring in contempt at the Dual-Walkers. Like Penelophine before them, and perhaps like most of the spectators, these two soldiers had figured out the terrifying secret, and they were disgusted by it. They were disgusted not only by the vile machinations of the Dual-Walkers, but also by their own secrets that kept them bound to the Twins. Without a word to one another, both men began to recall their countless mana bonds they had acquired over the years, but with two, sudden glances shot to them simultaneously by Syl and Chardis, both men recalled something else, and allowed their energies to fade. With sneers on their lips and a pain in their hearts, these two indentured soldiers turned back toward the arena, where the minotaur had Morgezka nearly pinned against the far wall.

Then, with a sudden surge of will, Morgezka launched herself forward. Her magic had failed her, her vision was blurred, but she was hardly defenseless. One large clawed hand shot out like a spear and pierced her unsuspecting foe directly through the gut as he charged at her again. Morgezka could not see clearly, but the scream she heard was decidedly human. The dragon’s heart seemed to stop as she recognized the voice behind that pained cry. Her vision cleared, and before her she saw not the fearsome minotaur she had battled, but rather the frail, broken, sweet form of her beloved Grund Larfolk. In an instant, Morgezka was in her human form again, cradling Grund’s head in her arms as the last remnants of his life slipped away in a small stream of blood from the corner of his mouth.

For the first time in centuries, Morgezka cried.

“Your winner, ladies and gentleman! Morgezka Shanak!” Chardis’s voice rang through the Amphiseum, but the crowd gave no reaction. They were as shocked as the dragon. In the pavilion, Naked Needa was in tears, hiding her face and convulsing. Tharandias and Baracon were glaring at the Dual-Walkers, still fighting their urge to act for reasons they would never admit. Grimoire was too shocked to even write, and Penelophine merely stared down at the floor, trying to quell the unease in her stomach. Syl stood up to join her brother in their mock salute to the winner.

Morgezka shook her head and cried for several moments before turning her gaze to the Dual-Walkers. “Why,” she whispered. “Why would you do this?”

Despite her quiet tone of voice, the Twins seemed to hear. Chardis laughed lightly as he spoke. “Grund Larfolk wished he could compete on the same level as his lover, Morgezka Shanak. In our generosity, we granted that wish.”

With her human form melting back into that of a dragon, Morgezka glared at him. “You monsters. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you both!”

Syl smirked. “She is right, dear brother. It was terribly rude of us to give Grund a gift and not Morgezka, as well.”

Chardis pretended to consider this. “Very well. I know a fine gift for her. No one would want to stay on the plane where her lover died. And with her unfortunate wound, she will be unable to ‘walk for quite a while.”

Syl nodded as Morgezka took flight. “Yes, dear brother. I believe we can help her there.”

The Dual-Walkers joined hands and pointed at the approaching dragon. Two beams of light shot from their fingers, converging on Morgezka. In a brilliant flash, the great dragon disappeared back into the æther, cast to some unknown world without so much as a scream to mark her departure. The Dual-Walkers’ smirks deepened as Chardis spoke a final time.

“Thus concludes the Amphiseum Games.”

Syl nodded in a demure, haunting laugh. “I trust you all found it memorable.”

Although the Amphiseum was destined to remain empty and unused for centuries afterward, the silence it felt at that moment was somehow deeper still. All eyes in the planar arena were focused on the Twins. Penelophine stared at their backs as her head spun. They were so beautiful, and yet so ugly. She wondered to herself if there was any cruelty that was beyond them. She felt a rush of fear as she hoped she would never find out.